


Bound

by orphan_account



Category: Chronicles of Prydain - Lloyd Alexander
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkwardness, F/M, First Time, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Pining, Plot? What Plot?, RST, Restraints, Sexual Content, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taran and Eilonwy make eyes at each other as they try to untangle a pile of knotted wool. Later, Taran is concerned with untying a different kind of knot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Airy cages quelled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/275097) by [lotesse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotesse/pseuds/lotesse). 



> This is an elaboration on an AU created in Airy Cages Quelled, by Lotesse. Summary of ACQ is as follows: “Eilonwy deals with the power of Llyr, kills a sorcerer, avenges her mother, and rescues her lover. You never know what you can do, until you get away from the canon that marginalizes you and prefers to develop its male lead. AU of Taran Wanderer.” You should really go read the whole story before reading this, because otherwise this one won’t make a whole lot of sense. Not that there is a lot of plot to make sense of.
> 
> While ACQ is beautifully written, cleverly-plotted, and carefully develops its characters, this piece is just shameless tropey T/E smut. Which I justify by reminding you that there is simply not enough of it out there in the world. If this inspires you to indignantly write your own, better version, then it has served its purpose.
> 
> It is set just after Taran and Eilonwy leave Commot Cenarth, headed for Commot Gwenith together. Gurgi has been left out of this vignette for narrative expediency, and the battle of Commot Isav has been moved to Commot Gwenith, for reasons that should become apparent.
> 
> I don’t own these characters, don’t sue me, etc.

After Dwyvach the weaver-woman agreed to teach Taran and Eilonwy the craft of weaving, she motioned for them to tether Lluagor and leave their pack in the byre behind the cottage. Eilonwy’s heart flew to her throat when she saw that Dwyvach had prepared a pallet for two.

In Commot Cenarth, they had studied and slept separately. Taran had spent his days toiling at Hevydd’s forge, while Eilonwy studied the art of medicinal herbs with Arlais the healer.

They often shared a midday meal, and spoke excitedly of their studies, of new wisdom gained and the frustrations of learning a difficult craft. They spoke, too, shyly but with growing confidence, of their love for one another—of the future they planned together at Caer Dallben. But at night they retired, exhausted, each to their own quarters. The long days of toil left little chance for privacy. Although they had stolen an occasional kiss in the grove behind Arlais’ farmstead, it was not enough to satisfy the longing that had been building in Eilonwy all those lonely months at Dinas Rhydnant.

After their first kiss outside Morda’s fence of thorns, Taran had maintained a shy, respectful distance during their brief moments alone, and it was beginning to infuriate her. As if she were a delicate flower needing protection, or an innocent maiden with no desires of her own. She meant to confront him about it as soon as she got the chance. As they unpacked their gear in the byre, her mind began to race.

But first, to work. The day stretched endlessly before her as Dwyvach set them to untangling a mountain of wool, so full of burrs and thorns that Eilonwy despaired of ever combing it clean. The room was humid and sticky from the summer rain. Under Dwyvach’s sharp watch, she scarcely dared meet Taran’s eyes. Instead, she let her glance linger on the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his lashes against his bronzed skin, the fullness of his lips, the stubble at his jaw. His dark hair stuck to his neck, still damp from the unexpected shower. She watched the hard knots of muscle in his arms, the deft movements of his hands as he struggled to untangle the wool. A shudder ran through her as she imagined those same fingers on her skin. His eyes briefly met hers, and the shock stopped her heart for a moment.

She saw the flush spread across his face and quickly turned back to her work. She was aware, for the rest of the day, of the way he snuck furtive glances at her from across the room. The heat of his gaze warmed her cheeks, her collarbone, her thighs. Her pulse pounded in her throat with the pleasure of his attention.

They had made little progress today, Dwyvach noted tartly as the storm finally lifted and last streaks of light faded from the sky. At the evening meal, they avoided each other’s eyes. After an agonizing hour of chatter before the hearth, the moon rose in a clear sky, and the weaver woman finally gave them leave to retire.

* * *

They lay curled together silently for several long moments in the dark byre, and Eilonwy drank in his scent of woodsmoke and late summer rain. Finally, frustration and impatience surged up in her throat. Did he want nothing more than to lie chastely at her back, one hand idly stroking her hair? It felt lovely, his hand on her hair, of course. But she had longed for him these past weeks, in ways she felt sure Queen Teleria would find distinctly un-ladylike. And Taran’s high-minded restraint was beginning to wear at her patience.

But what if this was truly all he desired? Her heart sank in a moment of doubt. But no—she had felt his eyes on her today. The silence dragged on. Had he fallen asleep? She feigned a yawn and stretch, shifting her weight slightly to pin his lower body back against the wall. She was rewarded with a low moan and an involuntary twitch of his hips. She felt his desire hot and firm at her back. She grinned with satisfaction in the dark as his hand snaked around to clutch her waist tightly to him, his breath ragged at her neck.

“Eilonwy, please. Why do you torment me?”

She flipped around quickly, bringing her face so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“Taran of Caer Dallben, what on earth do you mean? _Me_ tormenting _you?_ All these weeks together and nothing more than a few kisses, the way you’d kiss a little girl goodnight? It's enough to make a person mad. We are practically betrothed, you know, so I do wish you’d stop thinking about everybody’s honor for one moment and start thinking about…”

She paused for a sharp intake of breath as his hand came to rest just below the hem of her nightshift, warm against her bare thigh.

“Thinking about what?” his teeth flashed in a teasing grin, and relief and desire flooded her so suddenly she was struck speechless for a moment.

“Well, now you’ve gone and distracted me,” she said, slower than before, “and I’ve forgotten what I meant to say.” She trailed off as he pulled her to him and kissed her gently. She kissed him back, trembling with longing. Her lips parted and she felt his tongue darting wet and eager in her mouth, and the heat bloomed from her face to her chest to her thighs, when suddenly she heard hoofbeats outside and a clash of weapons.

Taran pulled away and sat up, panting and alert. Eilonwy’s mouth was still wet and tingling from his kiss, and she groaned in frustration. “Oh, bother! I suppose you’ll want to see what that is. It’s so unfair! That’s worse than offering someone a glass of wine and then snatching it away before they’ve had a taste.“

Taran laced up his boots, grabbed his sword, and sprang outside, ordering Eilonwy to wait.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she muttered in irritation, pulling on a tunic and leggings and buckling on her hunting knife before she ran after him into the moonlight.

* * *

Taran had already saddled Lluagor and galloped off before Eilonwy had a chance to catch up. Her rage at being interrupted and left behind changed quickly to terror when she saw that a band of marauders had mounted an attack on the commot. The men of Gwenith had come out in force to meet the assailants. Eilonwy ran into the fray with her knife drawn, slashing at the legs of the riders and fuming at Taran for leaving her without her horse.

She searched anxiously for Taran, then caught a glimpse of him far away on the other side of the field. As she ran toward him, she cried out as she watched one of the marauders drag him from Lluagor’s back. He fell, and his sword clattered to the ground. She redoubled her speed as she heard the ruffian’s harsh voice: “Well met, lord swineherd. No doubt my master will be pleased to see you again. You and your steed will make a fine battle prize.”

A roiling tangle of mounted warriors blocked her view for a moment. As Eilonwy scanned the battlefield for Taran after they passed, she sensed the tide had already begun to turn and the commot men were gaining on the attackers. Several of them lay wounded or slain, and the rest had begun their retreat.

Eilonwy darted past the fighters, nearing Taran at last, only to find him bound hand and foot and slung, kicking and shouting, over Lluagor’s back. A coarse warrior jerked at Lluagor’s reins and turned her toward the small group of retreating marauders galloping into the hills.

Before they could pick up speed, Eilonwy unsheathed her knife and hurled it with all her strength at the brute’s back. With a strangled cry he fell from his mount, leaving Lluagor’s reins hanging free. Eilonwy bent to retrieve her knife, then leaped astride Lluagor, hissing at Taran to hold still so they could awkwardly share the saddle. Then she sped from the nearly empty battlefield back toward Dwyvach’s cottage.

Eilonwy anxiously stroked Taran’s hair with her free hand as she guided Lluagor home.  “How do you fare,” she asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” he answered, a bit sheepishly, “it was not a hard fall. But I will admit my pride is badly bruised. It seems it’s the second time this month you’ve had to rescue me.”

“Well, it serves you right for running off without me. On my own horse! I hope you’ve learnt a lesson at least.”

“Eilonwy,” he sighed, “you mustn’t go rushing off into danger without thinking. I hate to think of what could have happened to you. On foot, and alone…”

They had arrived back at the byre, and Eilonwy had begun to untie Taran’s feet. But now she paused, furious. “Why, you’ve learnt nothing at all. If you’ll take a moment to remember, _you_ were the one who rushed off into danger without thinking. _You_ were the one knocked from your horse — or rather, _my_ horse — and _you_ are the one bound hand and foot as a result. Taran of Caer Dallben, I’ve half a mind to leave you tied up until you come to your senses.”

Eilonwy tethered Lluagor and stormed back to their pallet, leaving Taran slung over the mare’s back.

Taran groaned and wriggled his feet free from the thongs, which Eilonwy had already loosened. His hands still bound behind him, he followed her into the byre.

She had already kicked off her leggings and thrown herself down on the pallet, feigning sleep, but she rolled over to face him at the sound of his approach. She saw him stand silhouetted in the moonlight for a moment, then he approached the pallet and dropped stiffly to his knees.

“Come, now. Don’t be cross. Do untie me and let’s get some sleep. We’ve a long day ahead of us.”

A cool breeze blew through the byre and she caught his scent of woodsmoke and sweat, and desire swelled in her again, mingled with the exhilaration of the battle. A delicious thought occurred to her and she grinned wickedly. “In good time, my love. At the moment, I’m not the least bit sleepy.”

* * *

Eilonwy rose to her knees to face Taran, and leaned in to lightly graze his lips with hers. He sat stiffly at first, looking confused, then moaned softly as she tasted the sweat at the hollow of his throat. She pulled away with a laugh as he leaned toward her, straining against his bonds.

“Please,” he whispered, thrusting forward into the space between them as she backed up again. He shuffled awkwardly on his knees, but she slipped away easily, her hair brushing him as she slid around to the side.

She was behind him now, her lips at the back of his neck. “You were bound up like this when we first met, don’t you remember? You always were getting yourself into muddles. Well, now you’ve gone and done it again and I daresay it’s your own fault.”

She reached around to unlace his tunic and slid it down to reveal the rippling muscles of his back. Her lips and hair brushed his exposed skin again, sending a long shiver of pleasure through him. She saw the blood pounding at his throat and temple, and his muscles strained taut as he twisted his body around to face her. He pinned her knees under his, and lunged forward to press his mouth against hers.

She let her tongue part his lips for just a moment, then drew back with a smile and continued: “You know, when we met at Spiral Castle, I hadn’t the slightest idea what to do with you but untie you. But all those months alone at Dinas Rhydnant gave me ample time to think it through. And there are so many other lovely possibilities when faced with an Assistant Pig-Keeper bound at the wrists.”

Taran stared at her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. She laughed again. “You haven’t a clue what I mean, do you?”

“You can’t mean to leave me bound all night,” he cried hoarsely. “I beg you, unloose me now. It’s more than a man can bear.”

“Hmph. I expect you’re stronger than you know. You’re carrying on as though I’ve something disagreeable planned, when I only mean to… enjoy myself a bit. And I imagine you’d enjoy it yourself, if you’d only leave off complaining for just a moment.”

Eilonwy cupped her hands below his knees and tipped him over onto the pallet, then straddled his hips, feeling him firm and eager through the thin fabric of their clothing. She never took her eyes from his face, which now contorted with pleasure as she shifted her weight to find a comfortable position. She rotated her hips again and again, and a delicious warmth spread through her center. She let the tips of her hair brush his face and chest, then dipped down for another kiss. She let the heat build for a moment, sucking and biting at his swollen lips until he shivered. The cords of his neck strained forward as she pulled back, cutting it off just as she felt his hips buck. He whimpered at the sudden loss of contact.

“Please,” he whispered, his dark eyes huge and desperate. “Please, I want to touch you.”

“Not just yet, I’m afraid. That is, not with your hands. I’m still cross with you for running off without me. It’s bad manners, really. And I don’t believe you ever apologized.”

With a cry of despair, he struggled again against his bonds, twisting his torso and increasing the friction where their bodies met. She pressed her hands to his chest, pushing him down as she rolled her hips rhythmically. His lower body strained to meet her, and she slipped her fingers down to the jutting tips of his hipbones. She forced them flat against the pallet with the heels of her hands, knowing he was desperate to push against her. She lifted herself slightly, letting the night air play over the hot, moist spot between her thighs.

Taran inhaled her scent deeply. His face was flushed, his lips wet and full. “You mustn’t stop like that,” he begged. “I can’t bear it. Please…”

She lowered herself again, cutting off his words with another teasing kiss, her slick pointed tongue sliding about his teeth. She pulled away quickly and then ground her hips again. Taran’s eyes rolled half-shut, his lips parted, and he let out a long shuddering moan.

“See, I told you you’d enjoy yourself if you gave it half a chance,” she whispered, bending to let her lips graze his ear.

But then she pulled back thoughtfully. “Now, as I recall, you were the one with all the high-minded concern about moving too fast, or some such nonsense. And I certainly shouldn’t like to plunge ahead if you’re not… ready, so…” she trailed off, lifted herself up from where she sat, and rolled over to his side. She patted him gently on his sweaty brow before she turned toward the wall. “Sweet dreams, then. We really ought to get some sleep. We’ve a long day ahead of us, you know.”

Taran whimpered in anguish. “You wouldn’t dare. You can’t leave me like this, you wouldn’t be so cruel.” He strained again helplessly at the thongs that bound his wrists, panting from the effort, then fell back defeated against the pallet. “Eilonwy, you’ve had your fun. Untie me now, I beg you. Or know that I will repay you in kind should I manage to break loose myself.”

“Mmmmm…” she murmured, feigning sleepiness. “It sounds lovely, really. Do let me know how you get on. Perhaps tomorrow…” She let out an exaggerated yawn.

With a roar, Taran rolled astride her and sat up. The moonlight glinted off the sheen of sweat on his arms and chest. “You needn’t be so loud about it,” murmured Eilonwy. “You’ll wake the whole commot.”

His weight pinned her down, and she struggled to pull herself free, but only succeeded in increasing the sensation of heat spreading out through her body like warm honey. She continued to rotate her hips, in rhythm now, biting her lip to stifle a moan. Taran bent down and caught the hem of her tunic in his teeth, lifting it to plant urgent kisses on her ribs, her stomach, her navel.

When he sat up, something on the wall of the byre seemed to catch his eye. His thighs pinned her tightly, scooting their bodies and twisting slightly closer to the wall until he could reach his hands backward to clutch at something.

With a gleam of triumph in his eyes, Taran pressed his wrists backward into a bent nail protruding from the weathered boards.

Eilonwy let out a nervous squeak. "Just what do you think you're doing?" 

She tried to sit up and pull him toward her, but he pressed his knees into her upper arms to pin her firmly to the pallet. He twisted and strained until he succeeded in hooking the nail into the center of the knots. He spent a few long moments pulling and wriggling, which Eilonwy watched with bemused interest. At last, with a quick sawing motion he loosed the thongs and shook his hands free.

* * *

Taran rubbed his aching arms and wrists and stretched for a moment. Eilonwy shrieked and giggled as he fell upon her with a growl. Grinning like a cat, he thrust his hands beneath her tunic and wrestled it off over her head. He paused, suddenly shy, at the sight of her bare skin, luminescent in the dark. The crescent moon flashed at her throat, and he stared speechless at the curve of her breasts and stomach. She shivered slightly in the cool air, her nipples taut, every muscle coiled with anticipation.

Taran fumbled for words, his eyes burning with intensity. “You’re beautiful,” he managed at last. “For so many years I’ve longed to touch you… but you were always so far away. Now that you’re right here I feel so afraid…”

Eilonwy wrestled her arms from beneath his knees and pulled his trembling hands to her breasts. “Mmmm… that feels lovely.” She sighed at the warm pressure of his hands on her skin. “You needn’t act so terrified, I promise not to hurt you.”

“The truth is,” she continued, “I have been wanting you to touch me for the longest time, but you’ve been so slow about it that I got a bit impatient.”

She drew his head down and kissed him deeply, not pulling away this time, letting the heat build and build. He pressed the full length of his body against hers as she wrestled him out of his clothes. He let his mouth wander across her throat, tasting the salt of her skin, burying his face in her breasts and then drawing back to kiss them until her nipples tingled. She twisted her fingers in his hair and pulled him up to face her again. He looked eager and hungry and happier than she’d ever seen him. He squeezed her tight, clasping their naked bodies together and swinging one of her legs up around his waist.

Eilonwy felt an unbearable pressure begin to mount inside her, a burning sweetness she had never felt before. She guided Taran’s hand down her stomach, and he moaned when he felt the slick swollen heat between her legs. She showed him how to move the pads of his fingers firm and warm against her until her legs shuddered and twisted. The months of lonely desire at Dinas Rhydnant, the weeks spent in each other’s presence without touching, and the long night of teasing had left her desperate for release. When he finally entered her, hot and urgent and raw, she grabbed his hips and bit his shoulder to keep from screaming. She wrapped both legs around his waist, drawing him in deeper, clutching him so tight he stopped moving for a moment. She squeezed until she felt him flutter inside her, like the heartbeat of a tiny bird.

He thrust again and again, grinding his hips in a circular motion, sending a sharp bolt of pleasure through her at each revolution. The pressure built until she lost her sense of time and place, his hands were everywhere, his thumb hooked in the corner of her mouth tasted of raw animal musk and the heat was too much to bear and it all split open in a long shuddering gasp that ripped through her core. Taran cried out as he felt her convulse around him. Her legs shook uncontrollably and she felt a series of ripples deep in her center, squeezing him tight at each contraction. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes burned into hers. With one final thrust he burst inside her. Eilonwy fell back, weak and gasping, her legs still twitching as another wave of pleasure crested over her. She felt an overwhelming desire to weep, and she lay limp and drained on the straw for a few moments.

Taran was the first to rise to his elbow. He grinned broadly, the heartbreaking smile that she had dreamed of during their long separation, but without the sadness and distance she had always seen behind his eyes. He kissed her eyebrows, her lips, her throat, then pulled his cloak over both of them and curled around her tightly. His arms were strong and warm and he smelled like home. She felt infinitely tired. She settled her head on his shoulder and murmured, “Very well, then, I forgive you,” before drifting off to sleep.


End file.
